


Broken Blades

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Actor AU, Actor Chowder, Actor Jack, Alternate Universe, Coach Bitty, Director Holster, Figure Skater Bitty, M/M, Movie Set AU, Pining, Slow Burn, canon anxiety, mentions of canon overdose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-14 12:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack Zimmermann did not regret leaving hockey after his teenage life fell apart.  He got into acting, and settled well there.  But when his agent wants him to take a role playing a fallen hockey star, Jack isn't sure he's ready to be back on his blades again after fifteen years.  But he's a professional, and the adorable Figure skating coach they hired to help him get his bearings again certainly doesn't hurt the cause.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first check please fic. I found the comic not too long ago and fell in love, so I thought I'd try my hand at this. Updates will be weekly. You can find me on tumblr at [seriouslyholsom](http://seriouslyholsom.tumblr.com). I'm not on too much thanks to my work schedule but I try. Let me know what you think!

“I’m…not sure this is a good idea. I haven’t skated since...” Jack Zimmermann sat in his agent’s office, one hand tangled in his normally pristine hair, which was mussed to hell from nervous fingers. “And anyway, he premise seems a little…strange.”

Larissa leaned back in her chair, putting one arm behind her head. Her boot, covered in artful, rainbow spikes along the sides, glinted in the patch of sunlight from the busted shades on her office window. “Jack. Babe. No one is going to be sitting in the theater watching Broken Blades and talking about how realistic it is.”

“I just…” He hesitated. He’d spent most of his career avoiding anything and everything to do with hockey. It wasn’t that he disliked it, but growing up without a dad, battling anxiety and the pressures to live up to someone like Bad Bob Zimmermann… “I don’t think I’d do it justice.”

“Half your fans remember when you were Mr. Tiny Hockey Prodigy, Jack-o,” she said, shrugging her shoulder. “You could tell them hockey is played with tennis rackets and even if they didn’t believe you, they’d defend your dumbass online like you were speaking in metaphors.”

“I do action. And Rom-coms.” Jack stared at the script. He’d gotten a single page in before closing it.

“The main character falls in love with a man.”

Jack froze, blinking up at her. He was bisexual, he’d been in serious relationships with men and women. He was out, a privilege afforded to him because he was an actor, not a hockey player. But in spite of the world knowing who he was, in his ten years of acting on the big screen, he’d never been offered a part of a male lead.

Except once, in a tragic indie film where both men died.

He was so goddamn tired of gay tragedy he could cry.

“It’s not like you don’t know hockey,” Larissa pointed out. “You fucking know everything about it. Your ex is Kent Parson—who happens to be your obnoxious best friend to this day. If you need pointers…”

“It just…figure skating?” Jack asked, rubbing a hand down his face. “He gets injured, and too afraid to play hockey so he…figure skates. Which I actually do not know anything about.”

“They’re offering you a stupid amount of money, and a personal trainer. How hard could it be?” she pressed.

He knew she was angling for the money. Which he didn’t blame her. She wasn’t an agent for charity. He licked his lips. “Lards, I haven’t been on skates in years. More than fifteen.”

She gave him a dead stare. “And? I mean, it’s like riding a bike, right?”

“Yeah. You don’t ride for fifteen years, you get on, fall off, and crack your skull open,” he deadpanned.

“Actors have gone through worse for paychecks,” she reminded him.

He recalled the last flick he’d done about a WWII hero, and he’d spent days in the freezing rain. It ended up with him battling a nasty case of pneumonia and near hospitalization. So yeah, he was willing to risk his health if he felt strongly enough.

He just didn’t know if he had it in him to play this.

“Can I think about it?”

“The director wants a sit-down on Thursday, so you have until then,” she said. There was a hint of challenge in her voice, something he knew well. It was the sound of determination, and he had yet to win against her.

“I’ll call you,” he said. He swept the script into his arms and walked out.

It was sunny out, but a fog was rolling in, and Jack breathed in the air. He missed Canada, missed his little patch of land tucked on his parents’ property, and the silence that came with it. But he loved San Francisco just as much. Close enough to SoCal for work, but far enough away he didn’t feel suffocated and trapped by the streets of Malibu and Rodeo Drive. He didn’t like the post-post-modern bullshit of kale juice on every corner, and shops opening and closing like the sunrise and sunset of current trends.

There was something about the city here. The old buildings, the even older streets. The remnants of the time when San Fran was the Paris of the West. Everything was there—it was hard to feel like life was lacking. He had a condo in Potrero Hill overlooking the city with afternoon fog and quiet neighbors. He had a car that got him where he needed to go, and he could hit up the local café just a block from his front door without being stopped and bothered and papped.

He knew he was privileged. He knew he had a life easier than most people, and it was that guilt which set in when he thought about rejecting this script. It was stupid, yes, but if the two characters lived at the end, if they got through with more than implications and maybe a lingering hug, didn’t he owe it to people who could only get a glimpse of people like them from Sundance Film Clips?

The director wasn’t well known, but the guy had done multiple network shows with decent reviews, and this wasn’t going to hit the indie market. It was meant for mainstream release.

So…why not.

Why be so fussy.

Why let his hang ups about his dad, about his past and his choices deprive people of what they really needed. It wasn’t often people like him even got these roles. The number of times he’d seen a straight man stand on a stage accepting an award for their revolutionary portrayal of a queer man like the only way life like that could be live was through fantasy…

His fingers itched against the pages, and he knew his resolve was slipping.

Reaching his car, Jack pulled his phone out and punched in Kent’s number. It was the off season, which meant Kent would be busy, but probably free enough to take a call.

“Zimms. Miss me already?”

Jack rolled his eyes as he started his car, turning the radio down as he wedged his phone between his shoulder and ear. “I got offered a role playing a gay man.”

“So what? Has it been that long you need advice on how to get your dick sucked or…?”

“Why are you like this,” Jack muttered as he pulled onto the street, narrowly missing one of those ugly electric cars that looked like a toaster. He shoved his sunglasses on and leaned back against his seat. “The main character is a hockey player.”

Kent sucked in his breath. “Shiiiit. Are you okay? Fuck dude, you don’t have to take it, you know.”

“I know,” Jack said quietly. “It’s…” He stopped and laughed. “Crisse, it’s actually kind of stupid.”

“Hit me with it, babe.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “The main character, Jake—he’s a rookie. He was a leading scorer on his NCAA team, but he was also openly gay.”

“Shit,” Kent breathed quietly. “Tell me this isn’t some gay tragedy bullshit that…”

“It’s,” Jack said, and hesitated. “I didn’t read the script, but Larissa gave me the synopsis. The guy takes a dirty hit on the ice. Bad. Gets injured during the fight, and ends up being too traumatized to play again. But he realizes he’s miserable off the ice, so he takes up figure skating.” Jack paused, waiting for Kent’s laughter. “I mean…figure skating. Isn’t that ridiculous?” There’s a part of him that wants Kent to agree, to give him a reason to reject this, but there’s another, quieter part of him that hopes maybe it’s not as terrible as he thinks it is.

“I dunno, man,” Kent said. “I kind of…I mean I don’t know if I’d be up for figure skating but I get it? Like if I couldn’t get on the ice I’m…not really sure how I’d feel.” 

Jack could tell Kent was being careful with his words, because Kent had known. Kent had been there—a part of Jack’s breakdown.

“Maybe I’m just worried about being the guy to play this role,” Jack confessed, finally feeling the secret creeping out of the shadows of his brain. “Because I…didn’t go back. To anything even close.”

There was a long pause before Kent answered. “Look, Jack,” and Jack knew it was serious then if Kent was using his name. “What happened then, it was all kinds of fucked up. But I think you want to do this, and I think you’re looking for a reason to back out, and I’m not gonna give that to you.”

“I can’t count on you for shit,” Jack grumbled, but there was an edge of a smile in his voice. “Will you look over the script and tell me how terrible it is before I sell my soul to the gay rom-com devil?”

Kent snorted. “Yeah, man. Email it later?”

“Okay. And Kenny, I…uh. Thanks?”

“Yeah. Now fuck off, Jeff and I are about to get on a plane. Call me later.”

Jack hung up without a real goodbye, and tossed his phone next to the script. Talking to Kent was either hit or miss most days—leaving him feeling a hundred percent better or a hundred percent worse. But he could always count on honesty, no matter how badly it stung.

~*~

Jack pushed his reading glasses higher up his nose as he flipped to the final page of the script. It…was somewhat tragic, but he supposed he’d seen—and hell even acted in—several dozen hetero romances with the same, tear-jerking premise.

By the end, the guy would play hockey again. By the end, he wasn’t the butt of everyone’s jokes. The script-writer was either gay, or cared enough about the representation of the LGBT+ community that he had tried to avoid stereotypes.

The tension had bled from Jack’s shoulders, and really all he needed was an email back from Kent letting him know Jack wouldn’t be mocked for the rest of his natural life.

**Zimms,**

**It’s kind of terrible, but also kind of not. Like this is some shit you play with one of Brittney’s sad late nineties albums and cry with gelato. Please fucking do this. I want to take Jeff to the premier. Fuck that, I want to take my whole team. Aces got your back.**

**Love you.  
K**

Jack stared at the email in relief and curiosity and wondered if Kent was serious about the Aces. Knowing him, he was. Knowing him, this movie would team up with You Can Play and launch…something. Then he laughed at himself because he wasn’t an idiot.

But maybe it was a start.

It was almost midnight, but he picked up his phone anyway, and hit his agent’s contact.

“What the actual fuck, Zimmermann? I’ve got Shitty getting ready to…”

“I’ll do it,” Jack said, unfazed. “Tell the director I’ll meet him Thursday.”

“I love you,” Larissa said.

Jack laughed. “I know. Have a good night.”

“I fully fucking intend to,” she said, and the line went dead.

Jack dropped the phone next to his laptop, laid back, and drifted off with a smile.

~*~

The director was a massive guy who actually could have fared well in the NHL. His name was Adam Birkholtz, and he had two inches on Jack, and about fifty pounds. He grinned, his eyes squinting behind very thick lenses, and he shook Jack’s hand for way too long.

“Bro, you have no idea how happy I was when Larissa said you’d meet with me. I told Derek when he wrote this shit, that I had you in mind for the part. Jake was literally written for you.”

Jack felt his cheeks darken. “Oh uh. That’s…flattering?” He had no idea how he was supposed to react to that. “I don’t know if Larissa told you, but I haven’t actually been on ice since um…”

“Yeah, she mentioned it,” Adam said with a wave of his hand. “It’s no big deal. Look, let’s sit and we’ll talk about my baby.” Jack was confused, but did so, and took the cup of coffee Adam’s assistant pushed at him. “So Derek and I were in film school together, and we also played hockey.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean…actually I was in Juniors, same year as you. OHL, though, but I busted my knee when I was seventeen.” Adam looked forlorn for a minute. “Anyway my chances at the NHL were pretty fucked, but playing in college was pretty sweet. That’s where we came up with this idea.”

It made sense. When Jack had eventually gone through the script, it was well done, well researched. “Makes sense. I had my friend Kent look it over…”

“Fuck. Kent Parson?” Adam asked, his eyes widening even further.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Amazing,” Adam breathed. He shook his head then, like he was coming back to himself. “Well fuck. So you liked it, then?”

“It was nice,” Jack said, “to uh. To see a gay couple have something ordinary. Even in extraordinary circumstances. And neither of them dies.”

“My husband would fucking kill me if I did that,” Adam said.

Jack felt his lips quirk in spite of himself. “Ah. Yeah.”

With a shrug, Adam leaned back in his seat. “So I’ll need you to meet with the casting director. He’s pretty cool. And I think…” He whipped out his phone and pushed a bunch of buttons. “Yeah okay so like Friday, can you come in and read some lines with Chris?”

Jack raised a brow. “Chris?”

“He’s the guy we’re really looking at to play Dan? Chris Chow, he did that show last year…”

Jack nodded. He knew Chris Chow. He’d been on a couple of the paranormal type shows recently, but then had landed a leading role opposite Chris Pine and his name was all over. Jack was suitably impressed. It meant the movie would get traction. Even if it would also get protests.

“Yeah, alright. The rest, you’ll send to Larissa?”

Adam shrugged. “Yeah man, my people will talk to your people blah blah blah.” He put his phone down, then looked at Jack seriously. “Can I uh. Fuck this might be super rude but…do you think you might ask Parse if he’d be willing to come in as a consult?”

Jack almost choked on his swallow of coffee. “I…can ask. In fact, I can tell you right now he’ll say yes. He loves when I bring him on set. He’s…ridiculous.”

Adam lit up like the sun. “Oh hell yes, bro. It’s just…like I’m a huge fan and I’d love his input because I haven’t played hockey in a long fucking time. Not that I don’t uh…trust you. And shit maybe your dad…”

Jack shook his head. “Oh he would, but trust me you do not want him on set. He’s a disaster.” Jack didn’t mention his dad would probably show up anyway. And break several things, and talk Adam into letting him have some background walk-on role which he’d fuck up to the point it wouldn’t even make outtakes.

It was just what Bob did.

Adam only laughed. “Yeah, that’s cool. Okay well…tomorrow then?”

Jack shook his head, but before he stood up, he remembered the most important question. “Larissa mentioned you might have a uh…trainer? For me? For the skating.”

Adam frowned, then his eyes widened. “Shit. Yeah, yes. I have…” He patted down his pockets, then pulled out a small business card. “Here. He teaches at the rink over off Powell? Mostly kids classes, but he’s pretty fucking good.”

“Another college buddy, eh?” Jack asked.

Adam shrugged. “Hey, I have good contacts, what can I say. He also…takes some getting used to. But trust me, he’ll help. Just give him a call and see when you can set shit up. He’s expecting you.”

Jack pocketed the card and figured he’d call sooner rather than later. The last thing he needed was to be stuck icing bruises during filming. He shook Adam’s hand, then let himself out and realized just how damn much better he felt about the whole thing.

~*~

“Sweetheart, that sounds wonderful,” his mother said that night. Jack looked up from where he was cutting chicken, and saw the soft grin on her face.

His parents had worried, when he’d made the jump from hockey to acting. The business wasn’t any more friendly toward actors than National Leagues were to players. It was the same stress, and he would deal with the rumors of his fall-out with sports, and his overdose, and the lack of privacy all the same.

But Jack had settled into his role. For all that he’d been a bit stiff and awkward, he was a natural when the cameras were on him. And he never was able to really explain to his parents, the comfort of slipping into someone else’s life. How it brought him peace and relief to be able to shed his identity, even if only for minutes at a time, until someone shouted, CUT.

They had relaxed after his first show, some crappy little tween sit-com on Disney. He played a foreign exchange student, with his exaggerated accent and nineties boy-band hair. It was a six episode contract, and by the end he’d been offered another role as a recurring character.

He transitioned from that to prime-time, and Alicia had used one of her favors to get him an audition for a re-telling of Pride and Prejudice.

Jack didn’t think stepping into the role of Mr. Darcy would do him any favors, and yet…His affected English accent and sleepy eyes had won him hearts of millions and more offers than he knew what to do with. Larissa had been there from the beginning, and with her sage advice and his mother’s experience, he was able to take it slow, and take his time.

He hadn’t blown up, but he hadn’t faded into oblivion.

He was comfortable. He was in control of his life, of his anxiety with his therapist and his meds. He was a little lonely—dating more difficult than it was for his parents who’d met at a charity auction and had become inseparable.

But his life wasn’t all that terrible, and seeing that knowledge reflected on his mother’s face was everything.

“Your father is going to lose his mind when he finds out about this, you know,” she warned.

“Find out about what?” Bob demanded, strolling on-screen with his chocolate-stained, striped apron on.

Alicia sighed. “Want me to tell him, baby?”

Jack shrugged and went back to his chicken. “Go ahead.” He smiled as Alicia slipped into French and began to tell Bob the synopsis. It was soothing, to hear his language, since he never spoke it these days. It was soothing to hear his father’s gasping, and the shuffling noise as he grabbed the laptop screen.

“Jack,” Bob said. “Jack I…”

“Crisse, please don’t,” Jack groaned. 

“Do they need a consultant for Hockey?”

“Kent’s doing it,” Jack said.

Bob scowled. “That boy…what does he know?”

“Sure,” Jack said with a chuckle. “What does a current hockey player with a calder and three Stanley Cups know?”

“I won fifteen, son. Fifteen!”

Jack just grinned, and Bob eventually deflated.

“When can I come by?”

Jack slipped his chicken into the oven, then washed his hands before he spoke again. “I don’t even know when filming starts. They have me seeing a figure skating coach before, so I can get acclimated back to the ice and to the different skates,” Jack said, hoping they could skirt the conversation Jack never wanted to have with his father about why he’d never set foot on a rink again. Bob let it slide. “I meet my co-star tomorrow to read lines.”

“Oh honey,” Alicia said, pushing Bob over. “Who is it?”

“Chris Chow,” Jack said.

Alicia went starry eyed. “Oh I love him. He’s adorable!”

Jack snorted and leaned on the counter toward the screen. “I’ll keep you posted on when we start filming and where.”

“And release dates. And studio time. I might just…want a tour,” Bob said.

Jack snorted as his mother mouthed, ‘Hell no!’ behind his back.

“I can see that on the screen,” Bob groused. He pointed, “Right there, your pretty face chirping me behind my back.”

Alicia wrapped her arms around him and kissed his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Jack.”

“We both are,” Bob insisted.

Jack smiled, feeling more content than he had in a while. “Yeah. I am too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, work is murder. But here's chapter two.

Jack wiped sweat from his forehead as he burst into the conference room. He was never late. Ever. And of course on the day he was supposed to be reading lines with his possible-future co-star, his car had to break down, the Uber driver got a flat, and the bus got stuck in construction.

But he was less than ten minutes late, and both Adam and Chris looked fine—no irritation around the mouth, both sipping a latte in uncomfortable plastic chairs at the table with the script spread out in front of them.

Adam got up first, shoving his hand at Jack. “Thank god, bro. I mean, I got your text, but there was a tiny part of me that thought after all that shit, I was gonna get a call saying you were like…dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Jack flushed. “I really am sorry. I’m never late like this.” He turned to Chris who’d stood up, a little flushed in the cheeks, eyes wide with excitement. “And hi. Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Ja—”

“Jack Zimmermann, I know,” Chris said, pumping Jack’s hand up and down. “Gosh I’m such a huge fan. I can’t believe this. You know when Adam told me I was going to be reading lines with you today, I couldn’t sleep. It was like Christmas morning!”

“Hah,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um. Well, I’m flattered. And honestly, I’ve seen your work, and I’m really impressed.”

“Yeah okay so if we can stop the ego circle-jerk for a minute,” Adam said making Jack blush and snap to attention, “I’m gonna go grab Nurse and we can get recording.”

Jack waved Adam off, then rushed to the table for some hot water. He poured it into a cup, added a squeeze of lemon, and sighed as it soothed his throat. “I really am sorry. I mean, that was so unprofessional.”

Chris waved his hand as he sat back down. “You know, I worked on a set last month with Chris Pratt and um…gosh he was like an hour late every day? Never said sorry. It’s just the biz.”

“It’s a job,” Jack said, his voice a little harder than he meant it to be. He shook his head. “I mean…it’s…I prefer to keep it professional.”

Chris shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m just really excited to do this. It’s…gosh you know I just never thought I’d get to star in a film like this with someone like you.”

Jack turned slowly. “What do you mean?”

Chris’ cheeks pinked. “I just mean…it’s not easy. Even in Hollywood, you know? Being um…not straight? There are so many of us, but we still can’t even have a movie about gay people without one of them being like tragically beat to death at the end. Like hey, you can be gay, a person of colour, or happy. But you don’t get to be all three. Sometimes not even two.”

Jack felt his shoulders relax. “It was what convinced me to do this,” he admitted. “I never thought I’d take up a movie about hockey, but when I heard it wasn’t gay tragedy porn…”

“I didn’t think you would either,” Chris admitted, then flushed again. “I mean…I swear I’m not a creep. That’s like…common knowledge, right?”

Jack allowed himself a small chuckle. “Literally anyone who even skims my IMDB will know that. It’s fine, seriously.”

Chris sank back into his chair. “I played in high school, and some in college. Goalie.”

Jack laughed again. “Is that why you’re a little…”

“Weird?” Chris offered, then grinned. “Yeah. I was the weird goalie with amazing splits and braces. We did pretty good, too. I miss it. I mean, figure skating will get me back on the ice, but I’m a little jealous. I was kind of hoping for the part of Jake. But I think I can bring some life into Dan.” Chris shrugged. “I mean, at least I’m working with Adam’s team, and not some white asshole who’s going to pull some Cho Chang shit.”

Jack choked on his water, and wiped the back of his mouth. “Crisse, I forgot about that. I can’t believe that went forward.”

“It was England,” Chris said with a shrug. “Trust me, I was not surprised.”

Before Jack could say anything else, the door swung open, and Adam walked in with a very tall man with huge arms, brown skin, and artfully styled curls. He was wearing a slightly cropped, pink tank top with the word Hella, across the front. His smile was bright, and sweet, and the first thing he did was walk over and kiss Chris on the lips.

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “Nepotism?”

“I like to think his resume speaks for itself,” Adam said. “But I’m also kind of giving most of my friends jobs so…” He trailed off with a shrug and laughed.

Considering the script was well written, and they were reading lines, Jack felt a little more comfortable. And it wasn’t like he was unaware of Hollywood favoritism. He had a laundry list of bad actors with way too large filmographies and very famous aunts and uncles, and frankly he knew he only got his start thanks to his mother.

So who was he to judge.

His thoughts trailed off when the guy, Nurse—he assumed—walked over and extended his hand. “Yo. I’m Derek Nurse, and I’m like…a huge fan.”

“He likes the rom-coms,” Chris supplied helpfully.

Nurse rolled his eyes, but his smile was a little shy. “Fuck you very much, Christopher Franklin.” Backing up, Nurse started messing with the camera. “Anyway I’m the script writer, but also tech guy. Adam likes to say we’re saving costs, but it’s because he can’t stand hiring people to do the work if he doesn’t trust them.”

Jack smiled at Adam who shrugged, and gestured for Chris and Jack to take their places in front of the camera. “After this, you got your appointment for skating?”

Chris’ gaze snapped over to Jack who looked down at his feet. “Ah. Yeah, um. I’m supposed to be over at the rink by two. I figured we’d be done by then.”

“No worries, I just want to see how you two do with those marked scenes. Did you get the chance to go over them?”

Jack nodded. “I was on with Kent for a while, getting a few pointers since it’s been almost two decades since I’ve done anything with hockey.”

Chris made a slight noise in the back of his throat like a dying animal. “Kent Parson. Oh my god.”

Jack huffed. “Yeah. He’ll probably be around, too. Uh. And my dad. I tried to talk him out of it but…”

“Man, I am so getting laid tonight,” Nurse said with a grin, and passed the scripts out. “So. We’ve highlighted the scenes we want to run through, and whenever you’re ready, let’s go.”

Jack turned to Chris and smiled. “Yeah?”

Chris nodded with a huge grin. “Hell yeah.”

~*~ 

Jack walked out of the studio feeling really good. He wasn’t sure what kind of chemistry he’d have with someone like Chris Chow who typically played characters more this century while Jack was either stoic, or historical. But they meshed well. They did a couple of the dramatic scenes, then their first kiss which was awkward, as it always was with people giving you tips on where to put your hands and how much tongue to use.

But Chris kept everyone laughing, and Jack was far more at ease than he’d had been with any of his co-stars in years.

He left with a tiny smile, and it was only when his GPS alerted him that he was near the rink that he started to feel his nerves set in again. His bag in the back had his skates—new since he had far outgrown the ones he’d used in Juniors. Lacing them up to try them on had sent him home to take a Xanax and make a phone call to his therapist, but she was encouraging and thought the skating lessons would be good for him.

“There’s a part of me,” he told her, “that is terrified I won’t remember how to skate. That I’ll hit the ice and fall, and make a fool out of myself. But if I drop out of his movie I feel like…maybe all that shit from Juniors actually…won.”

She talked him through, reminded him his experiences were not a competition, and that trauma was allowed to linger, to affect the way he felt about his future, but he was allowed to want to try, too.

With that in mind, he hitched his bag over his shoulder, and made his way inside. The rink was nothing like he had played or practiced in when he was in Juniors. It had that faint, lingering snack-bar smell, and beneath that the sort of anesthetic smell of the spray for the rental skates. The floor looked like something from a seventies disco, and there were small benches and lockers for customers to use.

The place was quiet, except for Cha-Cha music playing over loud speakers, and in the center of the ice stood a shorter man, lithe and lean, with blonde hair and a wide grin. He was instructing a group of skaters who couldn’t have been more than five, in a sort of conga-line as they practiced some of their footwork.

Jack ended up captivated by it, the faint sound of the instructor’s southern drawl, and the way his face lit up when his students managed to complete the line without toppling over. He found himself leaning over the edge, breathing in that sharp tang of ice, and listening to the blades cut through it.

After a moment, the instructor looked up, and his face went through a few, complicated expressions before he clapped his hands and said, “Alright y’all. Good work today. Go find your parents and I’ll be seein’ you next week.”

“Bye, Mr. Bitty,” a few of them called as they skated off.

Jack stepped to the side to let them pass, and he offered a tense smile as the blonde man skated up. He felt anxiety racing up his spine, and he let out a small, shaking breath as he extended his hand. “Hi. I’m here for um…”

“Skating lesson. Jack Zimmermann. We’ve emailed.”

Bittle, Jack remembered. He was Eric Bittle. They shook hands, and on instinct Jack swiped his off on the side of his jeans as Eric watched him with a quirked brow. “Sorry I. It’s. A habit.”

Eric shrugged. “That’s fine. Listen, I’m gonna get outta these skates for a hot minute, and we can talk in my office. Just through that door right there, and to the left. You mind givin’ me a sec?”

“No that’s fine,” Jack said. He rubbed the back of his neck as he turned, and saw a few of the skaters’ parents staring at him openly. It was obvious he was recognized, so he hurried through the doors before he could be approached. It was rarer when he was in San Francisco, but it still happened, and when he was having a moment of high anxiety, dealing with the public was awful.

Luckily the office wasn’t far, and he slipped in, taking a seat across from the desk. He bounced his leg, and let his hands run over the tops of his jeans to feel the fabric against his palm. It was soothing. Stimming, his therapist had called it, and it kept him focused until the door opened, and Eric Bittle walked in.

He had a softer smile this time, and let out a tiny groan as he eased into his desk chair. “Little ones take it out of you. You wouldn’t think, bein’ so small.”

“I envy their energy. I remember it,” Jack said.

Eric snorted. “My momma used to say she wanted to bottle it up, sell it to the neighbors. Said she’d make herself a fortune.” He leaned back, letting his hands fold across his stomach. “So. I had a chat with Adam last night, said we needed to get started as quick as possible. He wants to start filmin’ soon.”

Jack swallowed. “Oh. Ah…he didn’t say when to me. I only just read through lines today, so I haven’t been officially cast yet and…”

“Oh honey,” Eric said, laughing. “When that boy has an idea in his head, there ain’t no stopping him. Believe you me, he wants you, he’ll get you.”

Jack felt his cheeks heat up. There was little he hated more than the feeling that he had no choice in the matter, and he had to remind himself he wanted this. He was choosing this. No one but him had the power to say yes or no. “Well…I’ve agreed so…here I am.”

“Here you are,” Eric echoed, and he gave Jack a once over. “I want to assess your skill on the ice before we formulate a lesson plan. Adam’s going to send me the choreography for each scene he wants to film with you, and you’ll be havin’ a double, I’m sure, for anything complicated. But he wants it to be as authentic as possible.”

“Well,” Jack said, letting out a breath, “since my character is a disaster on figure-skates, it will be authentic. I’ve never used a pair. And it’s been years since I’ve been on hockey skates.”

“I think that’s what he’s worried about most, hon,” Eric said sagely. “Most of your work’s gonna be done as a hockey player.”

Jack knew this, he did. And yet a cold wash of panic hit him and his breath started to shake. Eric gave him a careful look, then stood up and walked to a small table in the corner of the room. “You want some tea, Jack? My momma and daddy were in the UK last month and brought me home a few boxes of some stuff. I got herbal teas and black. And even some instant coffee if that’s your poison.”

Grateful for the distraction, Jack said, “Anything without caffeine?”

Eric happened to have a lavender blend, and he turned on his electric kettle, then got two mugs ready. They were chipped, and had the Ice Rink logo across the top. For whatever reason it felt homey and soft, and managed to calm Jack down.

As the water heated, Eric walked to the counter and pulled out a large Tupperware box. Jack peered over, and saw him taking out what looked like a pie tin, and served two slices onto paper plates. “Now, I know fancy action star like yourself probably has a specific diet plan, but everyone who meets me gets my pie. You allergic to anything?”

“Bees,” Jack said.

Eric laughed. “No bees in here. Just apples and a few spices.” He put a plate in front of Jack with a spork laying across the top. The tea was done a moment later, and Eric offered it with a small bear jar full of honey.

Jack waved it away, and didn’t pick up the spork, but he did sip the tea and felt the warmth soothe him even further. “Sorry,” he said after he was calm. “I just…have anxiety, amongst other things. And I haven’t been on the ice in so long. Not since…”

“I know,” Eric said softly. “But we’ll get you right, I promise. You got skates?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Yeah, in my bag. I wasn’t sure if. Um. Today…”

“Maybe we can do a lap or two, get you familiar with the feel of the ice. After I get notes from Adam, we can go from there.”

Jack nodded. “Thanks for this. I know it’s…unconventional.”

“Well, if you’da told me I’d be givin’ skating lessons to Bad Bob’s son, I might have laughed in your face, but here we are. And I don’t think you’ll need a lot of work. Like ridin’ a bike, right?”

Jack laughed and shook his head. “That’s usually what they say, but I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Eric nodded, then clapped his hands together. “So eat up, then lace up. I’ll meet you on the ice in five.”

Jack stared, a little bit stunned as the instructor rose from his chair, winked at Jack, then let himself out of the office. Strangely, it was exactly what Jack needed. A straightforward moment which allowed him to pull himself together.

He stabbed the spork into the pie and took a bite, expecting to find it bland or boring—since he wasn’t really a fan of pie, but he was hit with a burst of flavor, and a strange feeling of comfort. He found himself scraping the plate clean, and feeling warm all over as he got up, grabbed his skates bag, and headed out.

Eric was already on the ice when Jack made it to the bench. He was skating slow circles, and doing a few spins, in spite of being in hockey skates. Jack tried to quash the rising anxiety in his bones as he laced up, this time steps away from the ice which he hadn’t touched in years. Not even his father’s private rink, even when his father had begged him.

Not even with Kent, who had raged against Jack’s decision to leave the ice, and hockey, and everything they’d ever promised each other behind. When Jack checked out of rehab, he checked out of the person he’d been, and stepped into the life of the person he would eventually become.

It had been a long, exhausting, terrifying road. But he’d done it. He hadn’t cured himself of anxiety, he was still the guy on the spectrum with small stims and two special interests, but he was also a guy with a job that made him feel like he was safe stepping into the identities of other people. He was also a guy who felt like he’d found happiness and success, in spite of how awful it had all been.

And it was that knowledge, that hard-worked strength which pooled in his fingers, and tied the laces tight. He took a breath, then walked with a careful, long-remembered waddle to the entrance of the rink. His ankles ached already. He hadn’t done this in too damn long, and he knew he’d be sore tomorrow.

But it would be worth it.

So long as he could do it. So long as he could hit the ice and not make a fool of himself.

He glanced up at Eric who was beckoning him out, so he gripped the wall and placed one blade, then the other. The ice was too slick under him, but miraculously, he remembered how to balance. The strain on his ankles and calves was intense, but he was upright. It was exactly how he had remembered it. He shuffled his feet in place, a back and forth swishing, then he pushed off and began a few, lazy laps near Eric.

“Not bad,” Eric said, turning in a circle as he watched Jack go. “Honestly, I think you’re better than you thought you were.”

“I guess having all this drilled into me since infancy paid off,” Jack said. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and pushed himself a little faster. Not too fast. He still felt unsteady, no where near good enough to even attempt plays, and he wasn’t sure how it was going to feel with a stick in his hand, even if it was just for pretend.

“Well, I gotta be honest, I feel a lot better about this than I did when you first emailed me. I thought there was going to be a few blocks we’d have to work through, and trust me I know how hard those are.”

Jack came to a careful stop in front of Eric. “Yeah?”

Eric snorted a laugh. “Yeah. I played for a bit when I couldn’t have access to my figure skating coach, and let me tell you—the trauma of being bullied comes out full-force when you think some big guy’s about to crush you into the boards. The guys used to call me the Fainting Goat.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Hockey nickname?”

Eric rolled his eyes. “Something like that. They knocked it off when they realized a pie-drought was on the line. But it wasn’t a lie. Big guy like you coming at me? Forget it.” Eric shook his head. “I didn’t last long. But I also couldn’t say away from the ice.”

“Then came coaching,” Jack said.

Eric laughed. “Then came coaching. Reckon you know all about that.”

“I do,” Jack said quietly. He skated backward a little, and when he felt confident enough, he turned and picked up his speed.

They didn’t work long, but Eric promised the next lesson would be more grueling. “You’ll earn that warm tub after,” he said with a wink as Jack eased the skates off. “Do you have any questions for me now?”

“No,” Jack said. He zipped up the bag, then rose and extended his hand to Eric. “Thank you for the help. I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” Eric said, giving Jack a mock-salute. “I’ll be in touch.”

Jack left the rink feeling lighter than he ever thought possible, with hockey and more skating on the horizon.

~*~ 

“So,” came Kent’s drawling voice as Jack settled on his couch, “how’d it go? How many times did you fall, and when can I expect the viral YouTube video?”

“Fuck you,” Jack said with a laugh, sipping his fizzy water. “It was actually fine. I mean, I was kind of a mess before. Little bit after, but…I guess that’s to be expected.”

“Call your therapist?”

“Took a Xanax,” Jack said. “I’ll call her in the morning if I have a rough night. But it was…it was good. I didn’t think getting on the ice would be but…” He trailed off with a sigh. “I didn’t hate it.”

“So maybe next time you come visit?” Kent pressed.

Jack let out another sigh, but this time he was smiling. “Yeah. Maybe.”


End file.
